Goodbye To A World
by Not Another Fairytale
Summary: "I- I'm gonna lower my weapon now," she swallowed. His expression remained unreadable, though his eyes held a sharp glint that alluded to his irritation. He wasn't scared of her, she realised, (it would be ridiculous to assume he was). He didn't intend to hurt her either. He just wanted their encounter to end. "Please don't make me regret this." ((Starts in 6x06)).
1. The anomaly

_Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. I only own my character, Erin._

 **AN:** Rated T for swearing and violence (the usual TWD stuff) but I may bump it up to M depending on where the story leads.

I've had this idea in my head since 6x06 aired and now I've finally gotten around to writing it! I'll admit, it might start off a bit slow, but if everything goes to plan it should pick up after that. Erin is a bit unhinged, so expect weird shenanigans and sudden mood changes from her.

Thanks for checking this out, I hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

 **Goodbye To A World**

 _Chapter 1: The anomaly_

 _-Erin Blake-_

* * *

The forest was blackened and charred from where the flames had touched it. Ash coated the ground and lingered in the air, invading the lungs of the woman who carefully manoeuvred her way through the trees. She was unbothered by the eerie atmosphere and ruined surroundings; the lack of flesh-eating dead people more than compensated for any discomfort she felt.

Her name was Erin.

At 5'6" Erin was neither short nor tall. Her doe eyes were comparable to the leaves on a plant that hadn't been watered in a while; a faded shade of green. Her pale skin (a sharp contrast to her ginger hair) was dusted with freckles, and her physique was slim and lean, reflective of the harsh world she lived in. The blood-splattered cleaver in her right hand was also reflective of the post-apocalyptic world, but unlike her it glinted rather prettily in the sunlight.

Despite the heat of the sun bearing down on her back Erin wore a huge dark green scarf. It covered her neck and the lower half of her face, helping to filter the ashen air. It wasn't hand-made and it certainly wasn't made with the intention of it being given to her specifically (it had probably been churned out of a machine along with hundreds just like it) and she didn't even know what it was made of, though the incredible softness and durability of the fabric suggested it would have fetched a high price in the old world- such a high price that the old her wouldn't have even considered buying it. Yet it was Erin's most prized possession and she wouldn't remove it unless absolutely necessary. Merely knowing it was there comforted her more than any fire or cooked meal could.

Erin slowed to a halt, a huff escaping from her mouth as her gaze searched the desolate landscape. There was nothing to indicate she was reaching the edge of the forest and with the loss of her map a few days prior she had nothing to help gain her bearings except the sun. There was also a distinct absence of evidence to show Wolves were in the area, suggesting they had grown smart enough to leave her alone- _no_ , she scolded herself. That wasn't the case; they were too psychotic and too driven by their irrational beliefs to fear her. She must have no longer been in their territory. A sigh left her. _That simply won't do_. She couldn't move on. Not while some Wolves were still alive. She adjusted her black backpack so it hung more comfortably on her shoulder as she contemplated retracing her footsteps.

The rumble of an engine rang through the air.

Erin froze, her heart skipped a beat.

It was coming closer.

She whirled around, inwardly cursing the lack of foliage as she desperately sought out a place to hide. A ditch caught her eye. It certainly wouldn't have been her first choice in a game of hide-and-seek but it would have to do until the threat passed by or was eliminated. She lunged toward the trench and with about as much grace as a wounded deer she jumped down into it, sending soot flying into the air. She crouched and waited.

And waited.

The growl of the engine grew louder until it was a roar.

She held her breath.

The engine was cut.

She flinched as something heavy clattered to the ground only a few yards away from her hiding space, and she forced herself to stay still when a thump resounded less than a heartbeat later. Seconds passed. Her ears strained for any more sounds of movement but there was only silence. She shakily exhaled. Unease settled over her like a blanket. Her options were limited; she could either wait for the possible threat to move on or confront them.

Erin unwound herself from her crouching position and peered over the edge of the ditch. Her gaze landed on the fallen motorbike first, then snapped to the man collapsed beside it.

 _He's a Wolf_ , was Erin's immediate assumption as she looked over his dark clothes, dirty appearance, and unkempt hair. Her eyes narrowed. Her grip on her cleaver tightened while her free hand clenched into a fist. The carefully contained feral part of her gnashed its teeth and a growl-like noise reverberated in her throat. _If he is then I'll slice him open from neck to navel._

She blamed her loneliness for the hopeful thought that sprang up a few moments after the previous, less friendly one: _but what if he's_ not _a Wolf?_

Her stare slid back to the motorcycle beside him. Wolves preferred not to drive vehicles. She knew from close observation that they almost always travelled on foot. They barely even _glanced_ at abandoned cars on the street, let alone drove them. If the man before her was a Wolf then it would be considered very unusual for him to drive a motorbike into the middle of the woods in the way that he had, especially as nothing seemed to have been pursuing him. She shook her head at the thought: Wolves weren't _pursued_ by anything. They didn't flee, they ran headfirst into danger like lunatics.

She bit her lip. The doubt swirling in her mind was enough for Erin's hold on the cleaver to lessen. Without solid proof that he was a Wolf she couldn't kill him. After everything she had done she still refused to think she was a murderer. Besides, the man might be a good person. He might be someone whose only goal was to survive. He might be on his own. He might be lonely. The rest of his group might have been slaughtered by the same people she had promised to annihilate.

He might be like her.

She climbed out of the ditch as silently as she could.

Trepidation churned in Erin's stomach as she slid the cleaver into the make-shift sheathe that hung from her belt. She reached for her other weapon: a gun. It seemed like a bad idea to charge towards the possibly friendly stranger while brandishing a large meat knife. _Then again, I shouldn't be approaching him at all_ , she thought, _it doesn't matter how I do it or if he might be a 'good' guy- it's still dangerous!_ Nevertheless the woman crept forward, silently drawing the Glock from her belt and raising it to point at the stranger. The gun was a lot less intimidating than the cleaver (at least in her mind) and it would allow her to ensure some control over the situation while she kept a safe distance between them.

Her breath hitched when she heard the familiar wheezy-growl of a Walker. Her eyes instinctively sought out the source and latched onto it almost immediately: beside the man lay a blackened corpse so proficiently camouflaged against the dark ground that Erin hadn't noticed it before. But it didn't appear to be a threat as its head was stuck in a motorcycle helmet and its skeletal form rendered it unable to move. She wondered briefly how that worked (if the skin, flesh, and other organs had deteriorated, why hadn't the Walker's brain? Had the helmet preserved it?) yet decided not linger on those thoughts as she slowed to a halt, a mere two meters remaining between her and the fallen man.

Luckily, his eyes were closed, so he wouldn't see her staring at him like a creep. His breathing was surprisingly regulated and hushed (she had thought that he would be out of breath due to the way he'd hurtled into the area) but she didn't think he was unconscious.

Scruffy, dark hair fell in his eyes, obscuring his forehead from view. Erin frowned. She couldn't see if the customary 'W' scar of the Wolves was carved into him. The man was white, unshaven, and was coated in a thin layer of dirt she assumed was gathered from travelling. He still managed to look cleaner than most people did in those days though. He didn't look underweight like most Wolves were, in fact he seemed pretty well-fed in comparison to most survivors. She wondered if he had a group or if he was self-sufficient enough to gather plenty of food for himself. His tall and athletic physique seemed capable of easily overpowering her if it came to a fight, though it was hard to tell if he was as muscled as she assumed as the leather jacket he wore made it difficult to discern.

Her gaze flickered back to his face. The man may have been better-fed than her, but if the bags under his eyes were any indication then he was not as well-rested as she was. Erin's frown deepened; that was strange, a steady supply of food would imply he had somewhere reasonably safe to sleep. Then again, with the conditions and experiences they had to live with, it was not uncommon for survivors to suffer from PTSD, insomnia, or paranoia, all of which would make them reluctant or unable to rest.

The man shifted, snapping her back to focus. Voices in her head whispered at her to run, to get away from the stranger before he could realise she was there. He didn't seem to be a Wolf. She had no business with him. But, as it usually did, curiosity prevailed. She took another step forward and with a soft _click_ she turned the off the safety on her gun.

The man's eyes snapped open, locking on hers.

Erin stared.

He stared back.

He glanced at the gun in her hands.

Reflexively she tightened her grip on it, unnerved by the way his gaze sharpened into an accusing glare as it lifted back to meet her eyes. Erin shifted. The Wolves' eyes were usually filled with psychotic glee when she came across them- she was used to that. What she wasn't used to was the sanity in the eyes of the man that laid in front of her. Sanity was dangerous. Unpredictable. She felt as if he was the one pointing the gun; not her.

"Are you a Wolf?" It was a question she had to ask, even if she was heavily inclined to believe that he wasn't a Wolf. Her voice was quieter than she remembered it, though not as hoarse as she expected it to be. Somewhere along the road it had lost its sturdy edge. She sounded soft and tired, almost _sweet_ with her distinctly feminine lilt. She didn't like it. She didn't sound as strong as she used to.

A few beats of silence passed. Erin wondered if he hadn't heard her or if he hadn't understood. After all, without context, the inquiry _'Are you a Wolf'_ was more than a bit odd. She was debating how to tell him that she wasn't asking him if he was a furry animal when he gave a response: "No." His own voice was gravelly, deep, with an undertone of strength that she immediately felt drawn to. But that didn't matter. Until she was absolutely certain that he wasn't one of _them_ none of what he said or how he said it mattered. Her eyes narrowed, fixed on him as she adjusted her stance.

"Show me your forehead." Her command was met with a stony stare. " _Now_." With an incoherent grumble and yet another glare, the man brushed a hand through his hair, briefly revealing a brow clear of the trademark 'W'-shaped scar that the Wolves loved so much. She released a sigh of relief, her body visibly relaxing.

There was a strange thrill that came with the knowledge that he was not part of the cult she hated so much. She hoped her excitement didn't show on her face; she didn't want him to think she was crazy.

The thought made a new issue rear its head. _What if he doesn't like me?_ Erin truly did want to be liked by people ( _sane_ people), especially now that they were so few and far between. She didn't want the man to leave her without even a backwards glance. She hoped that maybe they could stick together, make the harsh world a little more bearable and easy to live in- _oh_. She sheepishly realised that continuing to point a gun at his face probably wasn't going to do her any favours.

"I- I'm gonna lower my weapon now," she swallowed. His expression remained unreadable, though his eyes held a sharp glint that alluded to his irritation. He wasn't scared of her, she realised, (it would be ridiculous to assume he was). He didn't intend to hurt her either. He just wanted their encounter to end. "Please don't make me regret this."

It may have been a stupid decision but she hadn't spoken to a person (excluding the occasional Wolf) for months. As much as she didn't want to admit it... she was lonely. She wanted to make something work between them.

Nerves continued to flutter in her gut as she lowered her gun and risked a step backward to give him some space. The man waited for a moment, quietly observing her, before standing up. He didn't move immediately but when he did it was not towards her. He reached down to the motorbike he had arrived on and pulled it upright. Erin tensed. His hand moved to the crossbow positioned on the back of his vehicle, but he slung it over his shoulder without even a glance at her. She exhaled a breath she hadn't known she had been holding.

He moved around to the other side of the motorbike, turning his back on her as he crouched, seemingly checking the bike for something- she wasn't sure what he was doing, she knew nothing about engines. All she really registered was that he turned his back on her.

Annoyance struck Erin like a slap to her face. It was like he had decided she wasn't worth any more of his time; she wasn't a threat that deserved his attention. Didn't he see the blood stains on her jeans and top? Didn't he realise there was a cleaver hanging from her belt and a gun still held in her grasp? She was not someone to be ignored.

"What's your name?" she chirped. Conversation seemed like the most innocent way to garner his attention. His gaze flicked over his shoulder toward her, calculatingly sharp and strikingly _blue_. She hadn't really paid attention to their colour earlier, but she did then, and they were unlike any eyes she had seen before.

"Daryl." he muttered. A mixture of relief and excitement swept over her like a wave. He wasn't one of those survivors who had a don't-let-anyone-know-who-you-are-and-don't-get-to-know-people mindset. She didn't like those much, but she supposed she could understand them. Trust issues were also common in the new world.

Daryl turned back to his bike, straightened up, grabbed its handlebars, and started pushing it forward.

"Daryl," she parroted softly, "I'm Erin, it's nice t'meet you." She flashed him a moderate smile (carefully constructed so it was not overly-enthusiastic and not apathetic; both would discourage him), an attempt to kindle any sort of emotion on his face. Daryl paused, regarded her once more, then shook his head and started walking again. He hadn't returned her smile. She pouted. A stray memory from her time studying psychology rang through her head: _Mirroring helps to create rapport; a close and harmonious relationship in which the people involved understand each other's feelings or ideas and communicate well._ But he refused to reflect her positive gestures and she couldn't exactly imitate his body language when it was so defensive - it would only subconsciously make him dislike her more.

Her hopes of companionship deflated as he moved further and further away. She slowly trailed after him, feeling very much like a lost puppy. "You're leaving? Just like that?"

"I got places to be. No time to hang around and get to know ya." He responded much quicker than he had the previous times and the sharpness of his tone stung her. _Pathetic_ , she scolded herself. She didn't even know the guy and she was letting him upset her. But she couldn't let him leave yet. She stopped following him and wracked her brain for a witty remark or _anything_ really that might make him stay. No words came to her. She mused bitterly how she would probably think of something smart to say later, _hours_ after he had gone.

Daryl sighed- not a sigh of sadness or relief; one of annoyance. Her gaze, which had dropped dejectedly to the floor, lifted back up in time to watch as he turned to look at her, his stare narrowed and calculating. She shifted uneasily. "What?" she questioned.

"You got a group to get back to?"

Erin hesitated, reluctant to admit to anything that may be seen as a weakness but hopeful that he may have been considering letting her go with him. "No..." Maybe he would take pity on her.

"How many walkers have ya killed?"

Erin's brow raised. She hadn't expected that, but then again, she didn't know what to expect from the stranger she'd met in a burnt down forest. "Was I supposed to be counting?" the redhead asked incredulously. She wondered if it was a trick question, yet the seriousness in his countenance conveyed that it wasn't. She sighed, her left arm hugging her middle while her free hand reached up to finger her scarf. "Feels like I've killed thousands."

"How many people you killed?"

Her eyes widened; she _definitely_ hadn't seen that coming.

 _Shit_.

A pause stretched out between them, growing more heavy with tension as seconds passed. She could envision the cogs in Daryl's head turning as he eyed her, his gaze narrowing to near-slits as time moved by. _Answer him_ , a voice whispered, _the silence will only make him suspicious_. But, try as she might, she could not recall the amount of people she had killed. Their deaths blended together in a red haze, their corpses uncountable. It was a shock, to say the least. She hadn't thought she was so far gone.

Her grip on both herself and the scarf had tightened when Daryl had spoken, so she forced herself to relax, a task she found very difficult under the man's unwavering stare. "I haven't kept track of that either," she confessed slowly. Daryl didn't even flinch. If anything, he had relaxed after she gave her answer. He was becoming more and more confusing to the woman.

"Why?" he asked.

"When it's kill or be killed everything's a blur," she told him, and added a sigh for extra effect as she ran a hand through her hair. "There's not exactly time to count when you're fighting for your life." _Well done_ , the voice cooed; the way Erin phrased her answer would imply she had always acted in self-defence. She was fine if Daryl believed that.

He seemed to mull over her words, his expression thoughtful as he bit the pad of his thumb, the motorbike leaned casually against his side. Erin used his silence to ponder their exchange. His questions felt rehearsed - systematic as if he'd asked them multiple times. They were too unusual for the man to have made them up on the spot, and the lack of any more inquiries suggested that the three given to her were chosen before Daryl had met Erin. They were obviously some sort of test. She just hoped she had passed it.

Her attention was brought back to Daryl when he nodded slightly, more to himself than to her.

He grunted, "Then are ya comin' or not, Bambi?"

Erin's face flared, her eyes widened in disbelief. "B-Bambi?" she spluttered. His lips twitched as if he was trying not to smirk. _Bastard_. He'd enjoyed provoking a reaction and she had no doubt that he'd do it again. She sighed, exasperated, though her heart felt light with joy. She wasn't alone anymore.

"Sure, why not. Let's go."

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 **AN:** And that was the first chapter of my first fanfiction! I'm not sure if I should continue it or not as school is kind of my biggest priority right now, but nevertheless please tell me what you think and feel free to ask questions~


	2. Two's company

**AN:** Hey guys, first let me just say a _huge_ thank you to those who faved and followed, and an even bigger thanks to those who reviewed (Katarzyna88gb, BreenaBelle-xoxo, galwidanatitud, Badmoon907, scarletgoldphoenix, Kaikitty165, and MelYu) :D I never expected so many people to actually take in interest in my story! Updates might be a bit irregular but I'll try my best to make some sort of schedule - maybe once every two weeks? I'll make it more frequent if I can, but I can't make any promises.

Did you see 06x09?

 **SPOILERS-** Oh my fricking gosh that episode was AMAZING! I was squealing through almost the whole thing! Everyone showed a badass side that was simply awe-inspiring and the way Daryl dealt with Negan's men was Epic (capital 'E' cause it was that good)! I can't say I didn't expect that to happen to Jessie and Sam; as soon as he started calling out for her in 6x08 I _knew_ they were dead. It sucks because I did like Jessie 'cause she was so sweet, but I prefer Richonne anyway ;) But oh my gosh poor Carl! I thought he was a gonner for sure omg. What did you think about the episode? I'd love to know your thoughts!

 **-END SPOILERS**

Can't wait for 06x10 tonight~!

Anyway, here's the next chapter! It's kinda rushed but whatever. Thank you for your patience!

* * *

 **Goodbye To A World**

 _Chapter 2: Two's company_

 _-Erin Blake-_

* * *

The pair trekked along in silence.

Erin had always been content to walk or sit quietly with someone, but it felt awkward - wrong, almost _-_ to be doing so with a person she barely knew. Especially since that person was leading her into the unknown, possibly towards danger.

She bit her lip, her gaze wandering over their surroundings as she tried to think of an appropriate conversation topic. She dismissed the idea of asking about Daryl's life prior to the apocalypse; it would've been pointless to reminisce about the past and her questions would only serve to upset or aggravate the man (from what she had seen from him so far, the latter seemed more likely). She couldn't ask about what his life was like after the outbreak either; it would have been downright invasive. She sure as hell didn't want to give _her_ story.

She sighed. Making small talk was _really_ difficult.

Daryl appeared to be struggling with pushing the motorbike (which was to be expected she supposed, as they'd been walking for almost an hour without breaking, and the bike was obviously very heavy) and the sight caused guilt to settle in her stomach. She probably should have offered him assistance much earlier. "Can I help with that-"

"Nawh, s'alright." he brushed her off swiftly without even a glance in her direction, and quickened his pace as if to prove he didn't need her aid, and in extension, her. She sighed again. She wanted Daryl to like her as soon as it was possible, but it was difficult to grow close to a man who was so aloof, and it didn't help that she hadn't had a conversation with someone for months and thus her social skills were out of practice.

They kept walking, passing burnt bodies and charred trees - nothing new, yet it was still scenery Erin was not completely accustomed to. Among the ashes on the ground, she spotted a black, feathered wing, its appearance causing her to slow to a halt. It looked like it had been ripped out from the socket. _Morbid_ , she shuddered. Her superstitious father would have said it was a bad omen. Erin was pretty sure omens and prophecies didn't exist, but regardless she hoped the bird had already been dead when its wing had been torn; somehow the idea of animals in pain had always upset her more than the thought of humans in pain.

Upon noticing Daryl had stopped and raised an eyebrow at her, the redhead trotted after him, the feathered appendage abandoned.

"Do you know what happened here?" she asked once they were walking beside each other again.

"No. Thought you would."

Erin shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. "I've got no clue, I've only been here for a little while." She looked over at him, recalling his earlier words. "You said you have somewhere to be?"

"Yeah." He confirmed, and huffed as he pushed the motorbike over another skeleton. It cracked and snapped like a bundle of twigs under the heavy weight, and Erin cringed at the sound, imagining _her_ bones breaking in a similar manner. "Got separated from two others, gotta find them and get back to Alexandria."

"You've got a group then." she noted, as if it weren't already obvious. He grunted in affirmation. "Is Alexandria a place or a _girl_?" She'd tried to make her voice teasing, but her genuine curiosity was obvious in her tone. Strangely, part of her hoped Alexandria was a girl; the world needed more love, especially when so many couples were torn apart - literally. Love born of shared experiences was so strong too. _True love_ , the childish part of her mind sang.

"Place." Daryl answered, and glanced across at her with an eyebrow raised while Erin forced her expression to remain neutral."It's well-defended, surrounded by walls, an' there's electricity and runnin' water." She perked up at his words, her disappointment disappearing like a rabbit in a hat trick. Running water was a rarity and electricity was almost unheard of. A place that had _both_ would've been incredible. She cautioned herself not to get too excited; she didn't want to set herself up for disappointment.

"And the people there? What're they like?" she prodded.

"Most've been there since the start. They're like how people used to be, naive but alright."

"It sounds like a fairytale," she mused before a frown etched into her forehead. "But it also sounds dangerous to be surrounded by people who haven't experienced, well, _this_." She lifted a hand to gesture vaguely to their surroundings before letting it fall limply back to her side.

"They're alright." Daryl shrugged. "A bit dumb but they ain't gonna cause much harm." Erin's eyes narrowed.

"Exactly, they're _harmless_. How would they defend themselves if something happened?"

"We're workin' on it."

"I hope so."

They lapsed into silence again and Erin's brow creased in thought. Did she really want to join a group? A group in which a lot of people apparently had no experience or fighting skills? She _had_ been doing rather well on her own. Sure, she was more on the skinny side of the spectrum, and going to sleep was always a bit nerve-wracking because there was no one else there to watch out for walkers or other threats. But she was still alive after months of solitude so that had to count for something.

And if she joined a group she wouldn't be able to fulfil her promise.

However, having a group would make things so much easier. More food, water, people, and sleep... and Alexandria sounded like a secure, well-protected area to live in. With _electricity_. If it was truly as safe as Daryl implied then some naive occupants wouldn't be too much of a problem, and hypothetically she could sneak out of the camp sometimes to ensure her promise was kept.

Erin realised she was getting ahead of herself; Daryl hadn't even offered to let her join his group. He'd only told her about it. Yet why else would he have let her follow him if not to let her join? She shook her head, thoroughly confused. "How'd you get separated?" she asked. She supposed some more intel could be useful.

"Got attacked."

She bristled. "Wolves?"

"The ones with W's on their heads?" he checked.

"Yeah."

"Don't think so." She was torn between feeling relieved, concerned, and disappointed. His answer meant his group probably wouldn't hunt down the Wolves and slaughter them before she could, but it also meant that she had no one to help her kill them all, so the process would be slower and they would be more suspicious of her for sneaking off at random intervals. On top of that, his answer meant that there was possibly another threat to worry about. Wolves, she could handle. People who weren't Wolves, she wasn't so sure about. Daryl turned to look at her closely. He had squinty eyes, the kind that always looked distrustful and calculating. She fidgeted under his stare, unnerved. "That's twice ya mentioned 'em. " he stated, though she could sense the underlying question in his words.

Erin twitched, one hand reaching up to her scarf while the other rested on the handle of her cleaver. She looked away from him. "I guess you could call me a Wolf hunter," she muttered. Her words were met with more silence. If he had heard her, he'd chosen not to comment.

The terrain dipped into a steep slope which Daryl continued towards without caution, and he paid for that mistake when he stumbled and dropped the motorbike as gravity pulled the vehicle forward. He swore quietly. Erin lengthened her strides to catch up to him.

"Please just let me help," she sighed. Daryl ignored her and instead ditched the bike in favour of pulling out a walkie-talkie from his belt. Erin blinked. _Has he had that this whole time?_ Annoyance at herself for not noticing and at Daryl for not mentioning it boiled in her chest. Before she could scold him, he clicked a button and held the device closer to his mouth.

"Sasha, Abraham, you there?" his inquiry was met with static. Erin tried not to feel too crestfallen and focused on committing the new names to memory.

A dripping noise drew her attention away from her thoughts to a corpse on the ground beside Daryl. Blood was plopping onto its face, slowly yet rhythmically. She lifted her gaze, and stepped forward worriedly when she realised the red liquid had came from Daryl - more specifically, from under his sleeve.

"Daryl, you're bleeding." she murmured. He grunted in response and shot her a look, as if to say _'way to point out the obvious'_. He pulled off his bloodied glove and slowly peeled off his leather jacket, revealing a sleeveless top, toned arms, and broad shoulders underneath . She swallowed. She had always been appreciative of some muscle but... at that moment she found it hard to appreciate arms that surely had enough strength in them to kill her if she wasn't careful. Plus, there was blood trickling down his arm, and that wasn't exactly what she considered _'hot'_.

Her stare latched onto the source of the blood. A wound which, from her angle, looked semi-circle shaped - _shit_. She had forgotten to ask him if he was bitten. _Idiot, idiot, idiot!_ She couldn't travel with an infected person, there were way too many risks. But she needed him to get to Alexandria; she couldn't just kill him! Then again, he hadn't told her about the walkie-talkie, and he hadn't told her about the bite - could he be trusted at all? Alexandria could have been a carefully constructed lie to make her continue following him. He might have been leading her somewhere completely different for some ulterior motive. The outbreak had brought out the worst in people, spawning rapists, murderers, and thieves... She was brainless to trust him so quickly.

She stepped back, eying him warily as her hand lifted to hover over her gun.

Catching the movement, Daryl glared at her. "I ain't bit," he asserted. She looked at the wound sceptically, and his glare grew firmer. "I _ain't_." She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. _Daryl's group was attacked, remember?_ She reminded herself. _A bullet probably grazed him - give him the benefit of the doubt, and if it turns out he_ was _bitten or if he's letting you come with him for all the wrong reasons, you can skewer him. Simple._

Erin slung her backpack around so she could open it, and dug through its contents until she found what she was looking for; a tiny bottle of vodka. She held it out to Daryl. "Here, I was saving it for a special occasion but..." she trailed off with a short, nervous laugh. Though looking somewhat bemused, he took the bottle with a nod of thanks. She was glad to see he didn't always reject help; life with him would be a lot easier that way. He unscrewed the lid and poured its contents on the gash with only a minor wince. There wasn't enough of the liquid to completely wash his arm but at least it would clean the main wound.

She pulled her backpack over her shoulder and (after a few moments of hesitation) she ripped off the bottom of her shirt, revealing a light pink, jagged scar that stretched diagonally across her stomach. Daryl didn't comment on it, which she was more than thankful for, yet she refused to meet his eyes as she wrapped the grey material of her shirt around his wound, tying it off untidily.

"Generosity'll get you killed, Bambi," he grumbled as he turned to pick up his discarded jacket. She frowned at his back- mainly due to the nickname -but smiled brightly when he turned back to face her.

"Well, it hasn't killed me yet so I'm gonna keep doing my thing, _Bunny_."

Daryl stiffened. His blue gaze narrowed into icy slits. _Woops_. She might have gone too far, but his reaction was amusing - especially when she imagined him with angrily twitching rabbit ears. "Bunny?" He grit out the word incredulously and the faintest trace of a blush dusted his cheeks. _Awh, how cute_.

She huffed, blowing a strand of red hair out of her face, and tried (and failed) not to smile. "I forgot the name of the rabbit in Bambi, so 'Bunny' will have to do." She leant back against a tree, its charred bark pressed against her back uncomfortably. Daryl muttered something inaudible. "What was that?" she asked. He seemed to waver before replying gruffly.

"His name's Thumper."

Erin stood up straighter and a chesire-cat grin stretched across her face. There was an edge of matter-of-factness in his tone that simply _couldn't_ be ignored. "Didn't realise you were such a big Disney fan, Bunny," she teased with a quirked eyebrow. Daryl glared at her heatedly.

"I ain't."

"Of _course_ you aren't." she cooed.

He grumbled something unintelligible. Her grin widened.

A twig snapped.

Daryl and Erin froze, their eyes meeting to confirm the other had heard it.

 _Wolves,_ was her first instinct _._ Something akin to a snarl threatened to rumble in her throat. She slid the cleaver from its sheathe, her left hand lingering on the Glock. The Wolves rarely carried weapons with range, and there was something strangely more satisfying about sinking a blade into someone's flesh in comparison to shooting them from a distance. Guns were too neat for what those bastards deserved. Those bastards deserved _butchering_.

Swiftly, Daryl dropped his jacket, unclipped a bag from his bike and slung it over his shoulder, then picked up his crossbow. He grabbed some dead foliage and dragged it over the bike, concealing it from view. Erin frowned. "We're leaving it here?" she whispered, and noticed how he eyed the bloodstained cleaver in her hand. His expression didn't reveal how he felt about it. He nodded curtly.

He gestured for Erin to stay behind him, his crossbow raised expertly as he crept forward. It was almost eerie how quietly he moved, as graceful and predatory as a panther stalking its prey. If the situation wasn't so tense she would have stopped to admire him. She generally considered herself to be light-footed, yet compared to him she felt like a stomping elephant. _He must have been military - or a hunter_ , she deduced as they eased forward.

Another twig snapped.

The pair turned sharply towards the sound.

Two women shot up from their crouching position, one blonde and one brunette, their hands flung up in surrender. Both were quite skinny (which was unsurprising) but the blonde seemed to be better fed than the brunette, suggesting that most of the food they gathered was given to her - _why_? Her hair was cropped short, and her face was rounded and youthful. She seemed to be in her early twenties. The brunette's hair was thrown up in a messy ponytail, and she had a more defined face than her companion and deep brown eyes. Erin guessed she was in her late twenties or early thirties. Both women may have been pretty if not for their dirty and dishevelled appearances. Erin supposed she couldn't judge too much; she was probably in a similar state.

Neither woman had a 'W' shaped scar.

 _Not Wolves and not important_ , Erin concluded. If she hadn't met Daryl then she might have thought differently. But she _had_ met Daryl and with him was the hope of a group and safety. He was a ticket to a better life and until she met the rest of his group, he was the only survivor who was of importance to her.

"You found us, okay? Here we are." The brunette's voice was shaky and both girls were trembling with fear. Erin and Daryl exchanged a quick glance. The woman's words had been confusing - and worrying, too, as they had implied someone was looking for the two girls. _Maybe the Wolves are chasing them_ , Erin thought hopefully, already plotting to use the women as bait to draw out the rabid bandits. The brunette stepped forward then, slightly in front of the blonde in a protective manner. Her voice - previously fearful - sharpened accusingly along with her expression. "We _earned_ what we took." The woman's stare flickered to the side of Daryl, alerting him and Erin to someone sneaking up on them.

Erin spun on her heel to face the new threat just in time to see Daryl get smacked in the face with a log.

Her flight instinct kicked in.

Erin bolted back the way she and Daryl came without looking backwards, her feet pounding against the forest floor as she darted through the burnt trees. She heard a shout behind her but ignored it, and focused on the ground ahead so she could avoid anything that could have tripped her. She was fast- fast enough to outrun any walker without too much difficulty, and fast enough to outrun a few Wolves if enough effort was acquired. She could escape.

A gunshot rang through the air. A game-changing factor. The bullet collided with the tree next to her in a shower of splinters and instinctively she flinched away from it, ducking her head and shifting her direction. _Keep running, keep running, keep running_ , the words were repeated in her head like a mantra. Erin yelped as another shot was fired at her, the bullet hitting the ground near her feet. A curse rumbled from the man chasing her, the unexpected proximity of the voice causing her heart to leap. Impulsively she glanced back to see how close her pursuer was.

It was a grave mistake. One moment of diverted attention was all it took for Erin to trip over a branch and crash to the ground.

Desperately she crawled forward, a muffled cry escaping her mouth as the man grasped her ankle and dragged her backwards. She jerked her leg, intending to kick him off. It worked to a degree, but moments later the hand gripped onto the back of her shirt instead and pulled her upright. She tugged away and stumbled forward. Her heart was dancing in her chest, her legs ached to bolt again. The click of a gun made her freeze. He was too close and she had no doubt his aim was steady since he wasn't running anymore; he wouldn't miss if he chose to shoot at her again.

Erin turned slowly, her hands held up in the universal sign of surrender.

* * *

 **AN:** And here we see the less likeable side of Erin. The self-preservation side. The side that runs away and leaves her hot hunter pal/future bae when he gets hit in the face with part of a tree. Tut-tut.

On another note, Daryl is a hard character to write geez

...I hope this is passable?


End file.
